Separated at Satinalia
by Freckles04
Summary: Bryn Theirin misses her husband during Satinalia at Vigil's Keep. This was written for a prompt on the BioWare Social Network for Feastday fanfic. One-shot sequel to Repercussions.


_A/N: The world and characters of Dragon Age belong to BioWare, and I offer that company my deepest thanks for encouraging community creations._

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**Separated at Satinalia**

Bryn Theirin stared out the window at the rain pelting the cobblestones in the square. The life-sized statue of Andraste had darkened with the wet. Droplets raced down her face like the tears she might have cried so long ago. Bryn's heart twisted, and she called herself all sorts of fool for the self-pity racing through her veins.

She'd known he wouldn't be able to come for Feastday. She'd extended the invitation knowing that, so why was she so disappointed not to see a royal retinue darkening the Vigil's gates? Alistair had an entire country to oversee, and no doubt there were parades and dinners and festivals for him to attend in Denerim. But, Maker, she missed him. Her role as Commander of the Grey was important, particularly with things so uncertain. Talking darkspawn? Organized attacks? It made no sense, and she had to find out what was behind it. But when this task was done, she would be returning to Denerim and her duties as Queen, and Commander Bryn would be no more. She hadn't mentioned that to her husband, yet, but she knew he wouldn't object. The connection between them, forged months ago through a risky ritual to save her sanity, was still strong. She felt his loneliness as keenly as her own.

"Everything all right, Bryn?"

The Commander turned at the soft voice and gave the petite figure in the doorway a gentle smile. "My mood fits the weather, it seems," she said. "Come in, Fiona. I could use the company."

The elven mage stepped over the threshold, her expression mirroring Bryn's. "I miss him too," she said, seating herself on the window bench next to the Commander.

"I'm sorry I dragged you here," Bryn began, "into all this…hassle…when you'd only just met Alistair."

"To be honest, I'm not so sure the distance between us is a bad thing." The mage shrugged, her pale yellow robe bunching at the shoulders. She'd left her dark hair down; it cascaded nearly to her shoulders, masking her pointed ears. "He needs to adjust, I need to adjust, and we need to figure out what we're going to reveal. If anything."

Bryn nodded and looked out the window again. Only a handful of people knew that Fiona was Alistair's mother, and Fiona had agreed with Alistair's suggestion that it remain so, for now. The country was still in turmoil, recovering from the Blight and now this new darkspawn threat. Alistair had been accepted grudgingly enough as the bastard of Maric the Savior; adding that he was the offspring of Maric and an elven mage Grey Warden--well, who knew what it might do to the uncertain stability in the Bannorn.

"The men have gathered in the dining room for the feast, Bryn." Fiona's reminder nudged the Commander from her reverie, and, with a sigh, she pasted a pleasant smile on her face and rose.

"I won't keep them waiting any longer then." She cast a final glance at the gates, then headed for the festivities.

The sound of laughter and jovial conversations buoyed her mood. After the devastation she'd witnessed on her arrival at the Vigil, it was good to hear high spirits again. Soldiers filled the dining hall, the average rank and file that helped protect the Keep and the nearby city of Amaranthine. At the front of the room was a table reserved for the Grey Wardens, and her compatriots were already in place.

Her steps faltered for only a moment as she regarded the Grey Wardens. There weren't nearly enough of them, but it was a start. Her eyes rested on Nate Howe, his normally dour face creased in a smile as he spoke with Sigrun, the former Legionnaire. He was the last person--the absolute last--she'd ever expected to recruit. The son of the man who'd murdered her family; the grown-up version of the boy she'd looked up to as a child. She was still trying to align him in her mind, though to this point, he refused to conform to any of her preconceived notions about him.

She wasn't truly friends with any of her companions, not yet. Maybe she wouldn't be. The mantle of Commander separated her from them like a bridge-less river.

Shaking off her melancholy thoughts, Bryn strode forward. Applause swelled around her as she reached the front of the hall. Fiona took a seat beside her, as her second, but Bryn remained standing and waited for the clapping to diminish.

"Today is a day of celebration!" she cried. "A day to remember the joys of life, the laughter, and the love. Today is the day we can show our appreciation for our friends and companions, and let them know how much they mean to us." She smiled. "There is a small gift under each of your plates. It isn't much, but I hope you'll find a way to put it to good use."

The soldiers cheered and quickly checked their place settings. The applause grew as they each found a sovereign. Mistress Woolsey was less than impressed when Bryn had broached the idea a week ago, but the Commander had persisted, despite her objections. The gratitude of the soldiers was well worth the money.

"Hmph." Oghren put down his plate with a thump. "Where're ours?"

"Now, now, dwarf, the Commander probably didn't give you any because she knew you'd simply spend it on more of that swill you call ale." Anders's eyes glittered merrily as he teased his fellow Warden. "That doesn't, however, explain why I don't have a sovereign. I've been good. I've killed lots of darkspawn."

Bryn chuckled and hopped down from the dais, aiming for a pack of goods stowed along the back wall of the dining room. "For you, my friends, I have something more important than money."

"Ale?" Oghren's lips curved hopefully as Bryn returned to the table.

"Better than ale." Reaching into the pack, she pulled out an object and placed it in front of her old friend.

A laugh barked from Anders's throat. "A toy horse? Oh, that's priceless. And look, it's almost big enough for him to ride it!"

Oghren swallowed and reached out a gruff hand to stroke a finger along the painted mane. He drew his hand back and cleared his throat. "Thank you, Commander."

Bryn smiled and proceeded to hand out the rest of the gifts in her pack. An empty notebook for Velanna, a snowglobe for Sigrun, a book of poetry for Justice, and new locksmith's tools for Nate. To Fiona, she gave a lovely golden bracelet.

Anders looked around as she stowed the empty pack. "What? Nothing for me? I'm serious--I really have killed a lot of darkspawn. And I haven't tried to escape! Not once."

Bryn chuckled and waved forward one of the servants hovering nearby. "For my dear Anders, something a little more…lively."

"A kitten!" Anders's face lit up as he took the small cat from the servant. "Oh, aren't you precious? Yes, you are. What a pretty kitty. And what shall we name you, eh? I don't suppose you'd like to be Mr. Wiggums Junior? No, perhaps not, considering Mr. Wiggums's ultimate fate. Oh, I know!" He held up the cat in front of him, his smile splitting his face. "Ser Pounce-A-Lot!"

Bryn cast her eyes skyward and finally took her seat. A loud farting noise emanated from her behind, startling the hall into silence. Narrowing her eyes, she lifted her leg and removed the flattened whoopee cushion from beneath her.

Oghren snorted. "Happy Feastday, Commander."

She tossed it aside with a smile and gestured to the servants. "Let's eat!"

###

When she returned to her room, much later than she'd anticipated, she found a package resting on her bed. Her smile--already permanently in place as a result of one too many cups of wine--grew as she recognized Alistair's handwriting. She ripped open the paper like a little girl to find a letter and another wrapped object inside.

_My dearest Bryn,_

_I wish I could be there with you to celebrate Feastday. You know that if I could, I would be. But there are always more ambassadors to meet, more treaties to sign, more paperwork to be done. I pray every day that you're safe, even though I know you are…I can feel it. I can feel, too, how much you miss me, and please know I miss you just as much. More, probably. Denerim is bloody dull. Like I said when I saw you at the Vigil, I really do miss the whole darkspawn-killing thing._

_At any rate, happy Satinalia, love. Here's something to remind you of me. Imagine you're holding me instead--and Maker's breath, I don't mean it like _that_!_

_I'm counting down the hours until I can see you again._

_All my love,_

_Alistair_

Bryn sniffled and re-read the letter before turning to the wrapped present. She'd sent Alistair a sword she'd found in her travels, knowing he'd appreciate the fine craftsmanship. For a moment, she wondered if he'd sent her a new dagger. Or maybe an amulet or some other item to carry with her for protection. But, no…the size of the object was wrong, and it was…soft?

She tore away the paper and stared at the thing in her hand, dumbfounded. Then she laughed until tears poured down her cheeks. Oh, Maker bless him. This was _exactly_ what she needed.

She hugged the stuffed doll to her chest before tracing a finger over the spiky red-gold hair, the stitched hazel eyes, and the soft splintmail armor. Perfect. Absolutely perfect. Still smiling, she tucked herself under the covers, her Alistair doll clutched to her chest, and fell fast asleep.


End file.
